


A less than petite mort

by statuscrows



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Consent Issues, Drugged Sex, Empathy, M/M, Season 2, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:29:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27880782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/statuscrows/pseuds/statuscrows
Summary: Will takes on a case hunting down a serial rapist. It puts an unexpected strain on his relationship with Hannibal.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 62





	A less than petite mort

**Author's Note:**

> just a heads up that the rape/noncon tag is for both the referenced serial rape and an explicit rape scene in the fic itself. there's also some very serious hannibal-style conversations about rape itself but i wasn't entirely sure how to tag that

"He's the one to approach me at the bar," Will says, watching the confident, drunken swagger of a man in his mid-20s take shape behind his eyes. "I've been stealing glances at him all night, pretending to be too shy to talk to him. He will believe from the start that our interactions are his idea and that he is in control. I am smaller than him. Unintimidating. He has no reason to feel threatened.

"He is not the only attractive man in his age group in this bar and the place is very crowded. His absence will go unnoticed. When we arrive at the hotel room the lights will be off. He is drunk and cannot see in the dark." Will pulls a syringe out of his coat pocket. "He’s too focused on his lust to notice. I plunge the needle into his neck, but I don't have much experience at this yet. When he struggles and pushes me away the needle bends in his skin.

"I watch him fall to his knees and then all fours like an animal." Will swallows, throat suddenly dry. He pulls out another syringe. "I inject him again. This time to keep him aroused even when he's unconscious. I strip him. He wanted to have sex with me but not like this. I..."

Will clears his throat, looking down at the lump of flesh beneath him. So much less impressive without the layers of expensive clothing he strolled around in. Despite his bulk he wouldn't be able to save himself.

He shudders and is back in the empty hotel room, staring at the decorated corpse on the bed. The quiet chatter of the FBI down the hall is slightly audible.

"I sodomize him," Will continues, staring at the corpse. "I masturbate him so the same time as I slit his throat, he orgasms. When I'm done, I clean him and dress him up in lingerie. I want him to look gaudy, like an object meant for pleasure and nothing else. I pose him on the bed: ankles crossed and arms above his head."

Will rubs a hand over his face. "This is my design," he says. "Or a vapid approximation at least."

There's a knock at the door and after a moment Jack enters, holding up a coffee. "Alright if I come in?"

"Might as well," Will says wearily.

Jack lets the door shut behind him and passes Will the coffee. It's a fairly small band-aid after the wound of his four am phone call. Will takes a sip and finds it at best lukewarm.

"I didn't plan on disturbing you," Jack says at his minor grimace, "but you've been at it a while."

"I'm aware. Unfortunately my ability to judge the passing of time is perfectly intact today."

"I didn't imply that it wasn't. What've we got?”

"Someone our victim picked up at a bar. Unassuming but attractive. I wouldn't be surprised if they worked in the medical field too. Do we know if our victim dated men?"

"Not sure. I'll have the team check his social media but there's a chance nothing will come up from that. The address on his license is in U-street but I wouldn't dare make any assumptions based on that." And then in a less flippant tone he says, "are these hate crimes? Dressing them in women's underwear..."

"No. At least I don’t think so."

Jack stands beside him for a while, both of them eyeing the body.

"You don't have a lot of experience with serial rapists," Jack says carefully.

"If you're asking if I can catch them the answer is yes."

Jack nods. "I trust you in this, Will. But honestly you seem uncomfortable as hell."

"Compared to normal days when I'm right at home among the dead?" He flips through the stack of photographs from the previous crime scene again. The way the body is posed is different, it's slumped forward with its face buried in the carpet. This victim’s outfit is purple and a little too large for his frame. It doesn’t match his tan skin and blonde hair either so if probably wasn't chosen with him specifically in mind. When rigor mortis was in place he would've been sitting back on his heels like he was being photographed. He’d been stabbed in the chest instead of having his throat slit.

"The others were killed inside their homes," Will says. 

"Maybe this one had roommates," Jack offers. "Or he just didn't want to be seen with the victim on a busy Saturday night."

Will shakes his head. "No, it just another variable to test. Something to experiment with. Did we run a tox on the previous one?"

"It came back fairly clean, minus some weed. Blood alcohol was around .32 so there's a good chance he was unconscious. Same with the first victim. The switch to drugging: does that mean he's evolving?"

"Possibly," Will says, distracted. "Or just working out their kinks."

"How are things going with Hannibal by the way?" Jack asks later, in the privacy of his car.

"Isn't that a question," Will says. He sinks down into the passenger seat with a sigh. "Not much to say. He's as elusive as ever. Sometimes I'm certain he knows exactly what I'm doing and others I think he's seconds away from telling me everything I want to hear. Which is probably right where he wants me."

"You don't fill me with a lot of confidence when you say things like that."

"Sorry, I meant that I've got Hannibal Lecter eating out of the palm of my hand." Jack takes his eyes off the road just long enough to give him a look and Will sighs. "I can do this, Jack."

"I'm trusting you here," Jack says. "I know you want to catch him more than anyone else. It's just hard not to feel like I'm leaving you wiggling on the end of a hook in chum infested waters."

"I told you I can reel him in and I will. And I won't get bitten either."

As soon as he enters Hannibal's office he can tell the man has something of interest on his mind. He's certain he knows what it is. Will doesn't offer it up on his own though. Fifteen minutes into their session he still hasn't brought up the case once. The absence clearly doesn't escape his notice, the omission drawing attention to itself as though Will were shining a spotlight on it with his evasion. It takes only a brief lull for Hannibal to jump in.

"Have you done many profiles on serial rapists?" he asks.

"I haven't," Will says, "I don't find their pathology that interesting."

"You've found merit in things you previously found uninteresting though, haven't you?" Hannibal asks. Will leaves that comment be. "You believe there's no artistry in it?"

"It's a crime of entitlement, of wounded masculinity, and violent misogyny, committed mostly against vulnerable friends, family members and loved ones."

"We covet what we see every day," Hannibal says. "Murder is not so different. The murder of a stranger is an uncommon thing."

"Not uncommon enough. My career is thriving."

"Both your new career and your work for the FBI," Hannibal says, pleased. "Does murder no longer warrant your attention because it was preceded by a rape?"

"That's obviously not the case."

"Or do you find the thought of empathizing with a person who can derive sexual pleasure from assault unappealing?"

Will resists the urge to shift uncomfortably. "My work is often unappealing, but I can admit to not being thrilled at the thought. They don't necessarily get sexual pleasure from their crimes though," Will says slowly, realization coming to him as he talks. "She uses sex toys when she sodomizes them."

"Our perp is a woman?"

"Most likely." He itches suddenly to look over the crime scene photos again, but he left them in his car. For lack of anything else to do he stands up, putting distance between himself and Hannibal while he thinks. "She seems unassuming. Men look at her and see someone obedient and easily molded. She takes advantage of that."

"Does she work alone?"

Will paces behind his chair, trying to imagine everything he'd seen when he'd tried to walk in her shoes. He hadn't felt another presence in the room but he's reluctant to say that aloud when he doesn't feel certain.

"Female serial killers are rare, female serial rapists even more so," Will says. "A female serial rapist who wasn't committing her crimes with her male partner would shatter headlines."

"Probability aside, what do your instincts tell you about your killer?"

"You're sure about this?" Jack asks over the phone later, "she's a woman and she's killing on her own?"

Will looks at the crime scene photos and autopsy report spread out in front of him across the living room floor. "Yes. That's what we're looking for."

"Alright, I'll get the word out." He still sounds a little skeptical but Will knows he wouldn't risk the investigation because of personal doubt. "Freddie Lounds will be furious. Missing out on a female serial rapist? She might just try to break out of protective custody if she finds out we're hunting a woman."

"Tell her I can always glue her to a wheelchair and set her on fire for real if she has a death wish," Will says dryly.

"I'll pass on your words of wisdom. What else can you tell me about her?"

Will picks up a photo of the third victim, his delicately crossed ankles and the arm thrown over his head to seductively stretch his torso. There's a brick wall forming in his mind as he tries to work his thoughts back over the crime itself, back to the actual rape.

"I need more time," Will says, because there's nothing else to say.

"You've reached a dead end with the Monster of the Mason-Dixon?" Hannibal asks, when Will shows up between appointments.

Will grimaces. "The name is a little premature. There's only three bodies, it's early to assume she'll continue playing jump rope with the border."

Hannibal drums his fingers along the surface of his desk in a rare, and no doubt deliberate, show of impatience. _Dodge my questions again and I won't ask delicately,_ the gesture says.

"What has changed, knowing your perp is a woman?"

"Her 'art' certainly reads differently. She's dressed up her victims and then sets them up like—like they’re Playboy magazine covers: gaudy and objectified yes, but with a certain aesthetic eye. She doesn't care if we see them or she would’ve placed them where they could more easily be located or called the police herself. No, the art is for her, an assertion of her ability to take power away from people who believe themselves more powerful than her."

Hannibal nods. "Are you ashamed to find that these crimes are no longer repugnant to you?"

Will wants to dispute the claim immediately but doesn't think anything but absolute certainty will convince Hannibal. "They should be," he admits uneasily. "They still are to a degree. The fact that the perp is a woman doesn't make rape any less repugnant."

"Yet you seem more enthusiastic about the case than you did initially."

"I wouldn't consider myself enthusiastic about a rapist, no."

"But you feel differently than you would if our perp where a man, raping and killing women."

"Context is key," Will says, walking the length of Hannibal's desk. "The reversal would destroy the meaning of her work. A man who hates women, picks up extroverted ones at bars, and turns them into objects, would be a very different monster."

"And you would like them less," Hannibal says.

Will scoffs. "She's hardly a feminist icon."

"Perhaps. There are assumptions of power that come along with gender according to patriarchal power structures," Hannibal says. "One could argue that she's spitting in the face of them with her actions."

"She'd certainly argue that."

"There are many who find the idea of adult men being victims of sexual violence from women impossible."

"Misinformed people."

"Steeped in many incorrect ideas about the nature of consent," Hannibal agrees. "Have you ever been a victim of sexual violence, Will?"

Will raises an eyebrow at the abruptness of the question. "No. Though I suppose I've been through my fair share of victimizations."

Hannibal tilts his head slightly. "Do you consider yourself my victim?"

Will smiles bitterly. "Does a block of marble consider itself the victim of a chisel?"

Hannibal, apparently not in the mood to have his ego stoked, presses on. "You are a good deal more sentient than a block of marble."

Will imagines that's a high compliment, given how poorly Hannibal seems to think of other people. "I don't think I'm quite ready to have this conversation. It'll either necessitate a good deal of hedging on your part or forgiveness on mine. And I don't find either option palatable."

Hannibal considers for a moment before nodding. "Very well. Is our perp a victim?"

Will hardly needs to think about it. "Yes. Probably a violent assault."

"An overt loss of power after a lifetime of everyday losses."

"She despises her victims. Not just on a personal level but for what she feels they represent."

"And she wishes to turn the tables on them," Hannibal continues. The brick wall that'd been between Will and this case seems like a distant memory when his thoughts are flowing so smoothly into Hannibal's. "She wishes them to feel the way she's felt her entire life. A triumphant act, wouldn't you agree?"

"That's certainly how she sees it. She lived in a near constant state of fear and this is the way she's learned to deal with it. Suddenly she's a predator, walking among people who think she's their prey."

"An elegant solution," Hannibal says.

Something in Hannibal's tone makes him pause. "If another patient of yours has gone into the serial killing business it might be enough to pull the wool from Jack's eyes."

"I don't believe she's one of mine," Hannibal says congenially. "None quite match your profile. But I must admit, if she were my patient I couldn't have recommended anything better."

Will spends the better part of a week looking at the crime scene photos, trying to see his monster in each glossy page. Unsurprisingly the details he's given aren't enough to conjure up a list of suspects and the Monster of the Mason Dixon is taking her time with her next victim. Hannibal however seems enamored by the case for reasons that Will assumes he'll sus out eventually.

"How go things with the Monster of the Mason-Dixon?" he asks at their next meeting

"Not great. I think there's another killer rattling around in my brain. He isn't leaving much room for anyone else."

Hannibal makes no obvious effort to hide his pleasure at the words. He pours a glass of wine for them both without asking, filled with the easy certainty that Will won't refuse him. When he holds it out Will knows quite certainly that Hannibal is their killer's type.

The young nature of the men, the fact that one was in a fraternity and the other a lumberjack, wasn't the deciding factor in how she chose them. They'd looked at her and thought they were the ones in control, that she was some weak thing to be taken and split in two. She'd delighted in turning their world view on its head. She would delight in doing the same to someone like Hannibal who saw himself as a well-functioning machine.

"Will?" Hannibal says, holding out his wine.

Will takes the glass, trying not to let what he was just thinking show more than it already has. "Her rapist never saw justice. And instead of raping and murdering the object of her fear, she kills these men."

"She is incapable of killing the man who victimized her?"

"He's out of reach. Dead, maybe in prison for another crime, but nowhere she can get her hands on him."

"An itch she can never scratch." Hannibal sits down with his wine. "Do you believe you're incapable of finding this woman because of your distraction or do you refuse to empathize with her fully?"

"Excuse me?" Will asks

"You clearly have some resistance to diving into this case. You refuse to lose yourself in it the way you have with other killers. Do you have trouble imagining sex with men?"

"I don't know how to answer that."

"A simple yes or no would suffice."

"Dr. Lecter..."

"I'm only trying to help you, Will."

Will looks down at the wine glass in his hand, the thin stem balanced between his fingers, and doesn't dispute the statement despite how much he disagrees with it.

"I can imagine anything," he says. "Taking on other perspectives is my curse. I don't need to be attracted to someone to be able to empathize with a person who _is_ attracted to them."

"And was the scene of her crime as vivid in your mind as others you've seen?"

Will wishes he were still wearing his glasses so he could adjust them now, lowering them to destroy the eye contact between them. "No," he says, softly but firmly.

"You're experiencing an instinctive recoiling from your perp’s crimes."

"There was a time when I recoiled from murder as well. That didn't stop me from empathizing with serial killers."

Hannibal nods. "Then perhaps you simply need to acclimate to the idea. Sit down please, Will. And close your eyes for me."

Will's heart rate spikes, Hannibal's next moves already unfolding in his thoughts. "I'm not sure you want to do this."

From the raw curiosity and steady patience in Hannibal's expression he does. Instead of answering Hannibal simply waits until Will gives in, sitting down and shutting his eyes.

"I'd like you to start by picturing a man for me."

Will draws in a sharp breath, already deeply uncomfortable. "What kind of man?"

"Have you ever been attracted to a man before?"

Will imagines sitting across from Hannibal at his table, watching Hannibal watch him hold his wine glass by the stem and smell its bouquet for the first time. He thinks of the inherent narcissism of Hannibal being drawn to the qualities he sees of himself in Will and how heady the man's attraction had felt in his own mind.

"Yes," Will says quietly.

"Then imagine a man you would be attracted to."

The dinner scene between them fades until there's only Will and Hannibal left. Hannibal is wearing the outfit he currently has on: suit jacket removed and sleeves rolled up, as casual as he gets.

"What is the first thing our perp does?"

"She can't overpower him," Will mumbles. Hannibal had fought off Tobias Budge on his own, attributing the victory to luck. Will has never seen him undressed but he's always suspected he was in fairly good shape. "The first couple times she got her victims drunk but now she knows it's faster just to drug them."

He turns away to pull a syringe from his pocket and uncaps it with his teeth before plunging it into Hannibal's neck. He watches Hannibal stagger and then fall to the floor.

"What then?"

"She waits until they're unconscious and undresses them."

Will yanks at Hannibal's vest, watching buttons fly off, knowing that Hannibal can't stop him. The Chesapeake Ripper has overpowered so many of his victims but now he’s so vulnerable.

"Is she aroused by undressing them?"

"Yes," Will says. His frowns. "No. She isn't." It wasn't her arousal he was feeling it was Hannibal's, present day, sitting across from him, Hannibal, who’s walking him through a rape and no doubt watching him with that same anticipation he wore before someone unknowingly bit into the flesh of his victims.

He opens his eyes. Before he's focused them back on Hannibal, his expression is back to something neutral.

"I don't think our perp is attracted to men, or at least not the ones she chooses to rape," Will says.

"Rape doesn't necessitate sexual attraction."

He'd expected it from the start then. "I don't think I'm looking to update my pathology in this particular way," he says, trying to hide annoyance.

Hannibal looks at him innocently. "It never hurts to broaden your horizons."

.

They find the next victim before rigor mortis has ended. The body is posed in one of his own chairs in his apartment, sitting backwards on it with his legs spread suggestively and his arms over the back. Like the previous victims he's wearing lingerie, this time a pink camisole. Unlike the other three he’s been suffocated with a pillow.

Will feels a tug of irrational irritation looking at the crime scene. Even in rigor mortis the body isn't stiff enough. She couldn't make his spine arc and his toes point in the way they were supposed to. Getting them posed like this was probably labor intensive enough.

"Two stabbings, a slit throat, and now a suffocation," Jack says. "She certainly likes to experiment."

"She's going to escalate until she finds what she's looking for."

"A way to get that Playboy feeling?”

"I suspect she'll move onto postmortem dismemberment soon if the dead don't get their acts together."

"Charming." Jack pats his shoulder on the way to the door. "I'll give you a minute."

Will stands in front of the body and shuts his eyes, letting the image of the crime in his mind’s eye take shape. When he opens them the corpse is gone and Hannibal is standing in the victim’s place.

"I recognize the look in your eyes," Will tells him. "Hungry and unsuspecting. You're safe here. With me. I'm the one at _your_ mercy."

He closes the distance between them, breath coming faster. "And as long as you believe that you'll continue to be too arrogant to see the line waiting to reel you in."

"She'll have killed a patient in the past," Will says, avoiding Jack's eyes more than usual.

"An Angel of Mercy?"

"Not quite. She'll be working in hospice or an ICU. That's what she gets off on. Not the rape, but the proximity to life and death. The ability to manipulate it as she chooses. That's why she needs to bring her victims to orgasm. It's the juxtaposition."

"Well," Jack says. "That's a new one. What took her from smothering cancer patients to this?"

"Her assault changed the way she expresses her pathology. She needed a more invasive way to take back control." Will shakes his head. "She's older than I initially thought but she's got a young face so she can pass for a woman in her 20s."

"Will she be abusing her patients?"

"Not the ones who are doing well. They probably like her. She's good looking and charismatic enough that these men don't overthink taking her home. But there'll be a of couple unexplained deaths around her."

After Jack lets him go, he returns to his car, just sitting behind the wheel and breathing. For all that he doubted Hannibal's dedication to legitimate psychiatry he'd certainly gotten him past his mental block. Though it'd come at the cost of another professional boundary that he wasn't sure he could build back up.

He'd imagined Hannibal in the victim's place. His thoughts hadn't been vague and scrambled but precise and tactile like a memory of something he'd done himself. This wasn't an entirely new feeling: during his bought with encephalitis his empathy had been uncontrollable, but it's strange how this time the feeling that he is responsible for a killer's crime isn't filling him with dread and guilt the way it should.

That night he dreams of Hannibal seated at home, in his kitchen where he feels his most comfortable and his most powerful. In his dream he gets as far as strapping a drunken Hannibal down awkwardly across his kitchen island before he wakes.

With the advantage of consciousness, he considers how much Hannibal would hate having his mind altered more than almost any other violation he could inflict on him. Being drugged so he couldn't move wouldn't do much to him; he'd still be able to think, to consent even if he was unable to verbalize it, still have those sharp barbed words waiting behind his teeth no matter what was happening to him. And the lucidity in his eyes—no.

That Hannibal is attracted to him hasn't been a secret for a long time. When they'd first met he'd ignored it in the casual way that he always ignored the sexual attention of people he wasn't attracted to. Their veneer of casual professionalism had demanded as much. Once that line had begun to erode, once he'd allowed Hannibal into his mind, it became harder to ignore.

Every time he met Hannibal's eyes he could feel his lust like a physical weight. The more time passes the less sure he is that the interest he feels in return is nothing but his empathy running wild with Hannibal's emotions, instead of something else.

Giving up on sleep Will gets out of bed, heading to the kitchen to pour himself a drink. A couple of furry heads perk up at his presence. Will takes his glass over to the living room and sits down on the floor among his dogs. Winston plops his head onto his knee and is back asleep in seconds. Will takes a swing of his whiskey.

Hannibal would approve of nearly anything that was done to him in the name of alienating Will from his morals, of that he was nearly certain. The fact that it would imply a sexual attraction to Hannibal on his part would only make the ordeal that much more appealing. Something in him found Hannibal's approval uncomfortable.

He places a hand on Winston's head, scratching him between the ears. Winston blinks at him sleepily.

It should alarm him a little that he's already made up his mind about what he's going to do. He should be agonizing about it or doubting his sanity. Instead he feels strangely calm. Certainly more calm than he did when he tried to get Hannibal killed.

Is this how she feels, Will wonders, staring down at his glass. No wonder she does it.

Will is early to their appointment to give himself time to walk around the neighborhood. It's not snowing outside but it's cold and Will knows the stench of winter and crowded streets is clinging to him when he finally returns to Hannibal's office. 7:29 on the dot, as it always suits Hannibal to have him right on time. He's bent himself to Hannibal's whims a good deal lately.

The door opens at 7:30 and Hannibal greets him with a smile. "Good evening, Will."

"Evening, Dr. Lecter," Will says, following Hannibal inside.

"You must be freezing," Hannibal says, no doubt smelling the cold and hopefully nothing else.

"I was a little early so I figured I'd go for a walk. Clear my head."

"And did it work?"

"Yes, in that now I'm mostly thinking about how cold I am." Hannibal smiles at that. "I don't suppose you keep whiskey in your office?"

"I do in fact." Hannibal nods towards a cabinet. "You may help yourself."

"Thank you." Will goes to the cabinet and grabs two tumblers, pouring them both about a finger with his back turned to Hannibal.

"What's on your mind tonight, Will?" He's standing by his desk when Will hands him his drink. Will takes a small sip of whiskey and then leans against Hannibal's desk. He's always suspected Hannibal liked seeing him on his desk, whether he was leaning or outright sitting on it. Maybe it’s the subtle intimacy of allowing Will to break decorum, perhaps he simply likes to imagine fucking Will over it—Will isn't entirely sure.

"The same thing that's been on my mind for a while."

"I wonder how many victims it will take before the FBI is able to catch her."

Will shakes his head. "The Monster of the Mason-Dixon isn't the killer I'm thinking about tonight."

Hannibal places his glass down on the desk and in the process, shrinks the space between them. "And whose shadows are you chasing tonight, Will?"

"Mostly yours," Will says, not backing away like he normally would but matching his gaze, "but also my own."

"Chasing our own shadows is a vital part of therapy."

Will takes another sip, holding the whiskey for a long moment before swallowing. It's almost fascinating how Hannibal's eyes flicker down to his throat. "And what does chasing _your_ shadows consist of?"

Hannibal takes another measured step forward. The surprise on his face when Will once again forgoes maintaining professional distance is subtle. Will is still genuinely cold and Hannibal is radiating his own kind of heat. "Keeping me on my toes apparently."

They've had these moments before, laden with meaning and on the edge of something more, but this is approaching new territory. And Hannibal clearly doesn't want to drive him away, whether this is real or not.

"If you were on your toes any more than you already are you'd need to consider a career as a ballerina."

"It's not a career that would lend itself well to my hobbies." The last word comes out slightly slurred in Hannibal's mouth as though he's tripped over his own tongue and Hannibal frowns.

"Certainly not the way the medical field does," Will says.

"Yes, I suppose not," Hannibal says, dismissively. He picks up his empty glass, examining it in his hand. "Will, did you drug me?"

Will continues to meet his gaze steadily as he puts down his own glass. "I'm afraid I don't share your qualms about ruining food and drinks."

"Ah." He stands up a bit straighter so he's no longer leaning into Will's space like a flower dying for the taste of the sun. "An excellent interpretation of your perp’s modus. Though you of course have cut out the middlemen. How lucky for you that I'm not out of reach."

Hannibal attempts to place his glass back down onto the desk as his strength starts to leave him, his entire body bowing over as he struggles to stay upright. Will comes forward and gently knocks the glass over the edge, letting it shatter on the floor.

"A tad petty," Hannibal says, pronouncing the words slowly to prevent any slurring. Will shrugs one shoulder. "I suppose I should've seen this coming. Alana did warn me that we share a penchant towards flirting as subterfuge."

Bringing up Alana is clearly a tactic to get him thinking about how she'd react if she found out about this. Its been easier since he was arrested to push thoughts of her aside. "We're about to share a penchant for taking advantage of the vulnerable," Will says, lowering his voice.

A darkness comes over Hannibal's expression. Will hopes it's anger but suspects it may be arousal as well. "Do you intend to kill me when you're done? Displaying your mastery over the object of your hatred and fear for others to see?"

He pulls Hannibal's hand away from his desk, keeping him from leaning against it. Hannibal is unsteady on his feet and with one harsh shove he falls backwards in an messy sprawl of limbs. His grunt of pain is immensely satisfying.

"The object of my fear," Will repeats. He steps forward, walking between Hannibal's spread legs and then stepping past them to loom over him. He's seen Hannibal injured but he's never seen anything quite like this. His heavy breaths and fluttering eyes as he struggles to remain focused when Will is completely lucid and calm. It's an unusual reversal.

"How could I possibly fear you?" Will says.

Hannibal blinks at him, eyes unfocused. "What an interesting new monster you've added to your collection," he mumbles, a faint smile twisting the corner of his mouth.

"She's certainly growing on me." He crouches lower over Hannibal. He opens his eyes once more and makes a noise of acknowledgement, though he expects that Hannibal hasn't entirely understood him. "Can you hear me?"

Hannibal makes another noise, not coherent enough to be a confirmation. His eyes refuse to open.

Will feels something stir in him at Hannibal's helplessness. He knows he couldn't do this to someone innocent, or a stranger, but Hannibal who's taken so much from him. Hannibal who's been pushing him to become a monster; that's something else.

He lifts Hannibal up under the arms and drags him back over to his chair, making no effort to keep him off the floor. The indignity of it, he thinks, would annoy Hannibal. Hannibal has his office cleaned every morning but it's the end of the day, and the floor isn't quite spotless. He can imagine Hannibal's disapproval.

Slowly, Will sits back down in his own chair, a mockery of their usual postures. He leans forward, elbows on his knees and watches Hannibal; the struggle of his eyes moving behind closed lids, fighting as though he can wrestle his way back to consciousness. He gets up for a moment to ruffle Hannibal’s hair, destroying the neat order he likes to keep himself in, and then sits back down.

This could be enough, he thinks. A small warning that Hannibal simply isn't as in control of their relationship as he'd like to believe. He could leave Hannibal to wake up on his own, knowing that Will could've done far worse to him.

A sensory memory breaches the surface of his thoughts. Hannibal's hands, delicate and steadfast on his face, assessing his fever while he seizes in front of Abel Gideon, Hannibal soothing him after shoving Abigail's ear down his throat with a tube.

Carefully, he gets up, approaching Hannibal as though he’s preparing to lay the first broad stroke on an empty canvas. He leans his knee between Hannibal's spread thighs and cups the man's face in his hands.

Hannibal is a little warm and impeccably shaven. Just from knowing the man he assumes he does it every morning with a straight razor. He pats Hannibal's face roughly and Hannibal's eyes open again.

His gaze is blurry and it takes several seconds before it settles on Will and even then it's with little in the way of recognition. Will doesn't mind. Hannibal can see him and with a memory as keen as his he might remember this moment when he wakes. If Will allows him to wake.

He undoes Hannibal's tie and then makes eye contact with him before letting it drop to the floor. He thinks he sees a twinge in Hannibal's expression but given the drugs that may be wishful thinking. He unbuttons Hannibal's shirt and vest next without much finesse. It's not difficult to pull Hannibal forward, head against Will's chest, and ease his clothes down his shoulders. He's moving a little, trying to sit upright, but is so pliant that getting his vest and shirt off is no great ordeal.

There's mostly confusion in Hannibal's expression but also unfamiliar traces of what could be fear, born of his inability to understand what's happening to him. Will tries to commit the moment to memory the way Hannibal might, taking in every erotic detail of it. Even after his time imprisoned he hasn't gotten used to being an object of fear. It wasn't normally such an addictive sensation.

He leaves Hannibal's shirt and vest on the floor because he knows it will irritate him, knows Hannibal has probably killed people for dirtying his clothing with their carelessness, much less deliberately. It gives him an odd thrill to disrupt Hannibal's tightly ordered world so thoroughly.

His shoes, socks, and pants come next, removed with the same lack of tact and disregard for his person. "You're always encouraging me to embrace my worst natures, Dr. Lecter," Will says. "I hope you won't regret that advice after the fact."

The silence that follows his comment is captivating with the absence of Hannibal's verbal sparring. The perp, he's certain, noted the same thing, and talks to her victims frequently.

"I assumed you'd have much more in the way of scars," Will says, carrying on with his perp's habit. He's right, for a man with an illustrious murder career Hannibal has very few scars. "I suppose it'd be evidence for a man like you."

He steps back to regard Hannibal for a moment and consider not what he'll enjoy the most but what Hannibal would find the most degrading.

"No eye contact. You do love having my attention, whether I want it or not." That narrows down his choices a good deal.

It's an uncomfortable process but eventually he gets Hannibal bent awkwardly over the arm of his own chair. He's been physically aroused since Hannibal started to look dizzy and he's a little surprised at that. Before he'd met Hannibal he'd always considered himself straight. But then again there were times when he thought himself incapable of murder or rape.

Their perp wasn't attracted to men either, Will reminds himself, tugging Hannibal's underwear down over the swell of his ass. That wasn't a deterrent for her and wouldn't be one for him.

His hands are steady as he neatly rolls up his sleeves and undoes his pants. The packet of lube he'd brought is warm from sitting in his pocket for so long and he coats himself with it generously. He might not have had sex with a man before but he's aware that ideally there's more work involved if one wants to avoid hurting their partner.

Unfortunately for Hannibal, Will doesn't particularly care.

"I'm afraid I won't be using protection with you, Dr. Lecter," he says, pushing Hannibal's thighs further apart and then spreading one of his cheeks with a hand. "I gave it a good deal of thought—which I'm sure you'd be happy to hear—and decided against it."

Being unable to tense up makes Will's entrance easier than he thought it'd be. It's strange and new but not unpleasant, tight and made wet only through the artificial slick of lube. He looks past Hannibal's ass to his crumpled, slacken form, his wild hair and his face pressed against the fine material of his seat. It's horribly degrading.

And it makes Will's cock twitch.

Some vague sense of guilt ticks at the back of his mind at that but he shoves it aside. It's far too late for moralizing. It's been too late ever since he walked back into Hannibal's office, ready to draw blood if it'd end with the Chesapeake Ripper in prison.

A shudder runs through Hannibal's body, his ass clenching briefly around Will's cock. He knows Hannibal has returned to consciousness again, though not fully.

Will exhales slowly and grabs onto Hannibal's hips. He thrusts in harder, knowing Hannibal won't understand what's happening to him or who's doing it. All he can see is the leather beneath his face and all he can feel is Will inside of him, thrusting into him mercilessly, forcing him back and forth along the furniture without a care for his comfort. A fine shine of sweat is gathering on Will's forehead and he wipes his sleeve against it, trying not to slow down.

If Hannibal is still conscious, he can't tell. Hannibal is incapable of keeping tension within his body, resisting, or even enjoying it. He hadn't given him anything to promote physical arousal. He didn't want to entertain even the illusion of enjoyment on Hannibal's part.

An 'interpretation' of her modus was right. Just by choosing to use his own body for this he was distorting the narrative, turning it into something more personal than his perp's crimes. She hadn't been able to feel her victim's insides with her toys. She hadn't felt the errant clench of muscles unconsciously moving the way Will can. And, worst of all, she hadn't been able to take what she wanted from her intended.

He isn't holding life and death in his hands like she does either, he's slowly making up his mind that he needs Hannibal to live with this, but the knowledge that he's in a position to kill Hannibal very easily is arousing beyond belief.

Hannibal makes a noise, quiet but frightened and that's all it takes to push Will over the edge.

Before he leaves he looks around Hannibal's office, noting the mess, Hannibal's undignified posture, the clothes, the broken glass, the come running down Hannibal's thigh. All of it. A thought comes to him: the slight pale flesh around the wrist of the second victim, and he walks over to Hannibal’s desk.

He doesn't know how what he's done will affect his and Jack's case against the Chesapeake Ripper. He'd hardly thought about it beforehand but now the glaring oversight almost worries him.

Then again, Will’s actions didn't make Hannibal any less of a killer. It just left him with no moral ground to stand on.

That night as Will lies in bed he tells himself that Hannibal must've been able to taste everything in his drink. But even if he finds the thought very likely it's also unappealing. It would be like Hannibal to play along, to allow Will to immerse himself in the fantasy. It would be like Hannibal to plan this from the start and convince him it was his own idea when he began sowing the seeds for this from the start of the investigation.

In the growing tangle of his thoughts he remembers how he'd left Hannibal, naked and slumped over uncomfortably. The doors to the office and the front of the building unlocked for anyone who might come wandering in before Hannibal regained his faculties.

He reaches into his underwear to grasp his cock, which is certainly taking a much better interest in that train of thought.

Will's wakes at around seven in the morning to a phone call from Jack. It's been a long time since he slept so deeply and he's groggy when he answers.

"We caught her in the act," Jack says immediately. He sounds exhausted and deeply annoyed. "You were right about her escalating. Turns out it's very difficult to quietly dismember a corpse in the middle of the night and the people in the room next to her filed a goddamn noise complaint."

"Oh," Will says, sitting up. "Well that's...good."

"Yeah, she was covered in blood when we found her so we've got a pretty solid case."

Will looks over at his bedside, to where Hannibal's penknife is sitting. "She'll have personal items belonging to the victims on her. Small, meaningful things that'll remind her of them. Including the second victim's watch."

"I'll have the team examine everything she's got on her. She hasn't asked for a lawyer. I'm willing to bet she's ready to confess to everything."

Will turns the penknife over in his hand. "I'll talk to her," he says. "I think she'll be more... receptive to someone she doesn't find intimidating."

"Suit yourself."

"The first one," Patricia Nguyen says, voice warm and soothing. She's staring down at her nails and the blood caked under them. "Blake...something. About two minutes after we met he told me that his ex used to do these sexy cosplays for him. I said I had a boyfriend. He said I'd make a great Chung-Li and…well. I guess you guys know the rest."

"You got him drunk and pulled him down off his high horse," Will says.

"Yes," she says, looking surprised. " _Yes_. That's exactly what I did."

"It must've been satisfying."

Nguyen sits forward, her handcuffs rattling. "It wasn't that he was annoying or a pig. It was...do you know how it feels to look into the eyes of someone who's supposed to have power over you and see fear? To be able to instill that in someone who thinks they're stronger than you?"

Will looks back at her, Hannibal's pen knife tucked away into the inside pocket of his blazer. He reaches into the folder on the table and pulls out pictures of two elderly people, a man and a woman.

"You killed Rachel Rotz and Kevin Fisher years ago. When they were under your care. Did they think they were stronger than you?"

Nguyen's face falls. She leans back in her chair, deflating slightly. "Oh," she says, "I'm sorry. For some reason I thought you understood."

Hannibal doesn't attempt to contact him before his next appointment, not that he typically does when they don't have business. Will is about ten minutes late this evening and Hannibal's door is already open.

"Good evening, Will," Hannibal says, getting up from his desk. He looks as neat and tidy as his office, as though nothing at all had happened. Will regrets not leaving any bruises on him. "Did you run into traffic on your way?"

"No, not at all." Will shuts the door behind him.

"Class keeping you busy?"

Will smiles at him, not pleasant but genuine. "Not particularly."

Hannibal returns the smile and stops pressing. They both take their seats.

"Would you happen to know where my penknife is?" Hannibal asks. "I usually keep one in the office but I seem to have misplaced it."

"I have it."

"I don't suppose I can have it back?"

"No," Will says.

Hannibal nods patiently. "It would certainly only help my case. You've already left me with quite the treasure trove of evidence."

"I suppose I have," he says, not taking the implication of his words seriously at all. They both know he has no intention of going to the police. Not unless Will does something truly out of line. "Do you still record our sessions?"

"I stopped for a time when we picked up our sessions but I did continue again recently. Out of fear for my own safety of course," he adds.

"Of course." Will feels nothing but vague disappointment at the thought. "You must've been very happy to have your machinations pay off."

Hannibal's brow furrows, the lines of his face folding in a perfect display of concern. "Imagining that your victim's sexual attraction to you implies their consent is a fairly common fallacy for a rapist to succumb to, is it not?"

He wonders if Hannibal will enjoy calling him that in the future whenever it suits him. "Getting me to imagine raping someone wasn't your most subtle move."

"I only wanted to help you understand your killer. Escalating was your choice."

Will sits in silence for a moment, unsure where to continue. "I... can’t tell if you're being kind or cruel right now," he says. "And I can't tell if I'm happier for your ambiguity."

"I only ever have your best interests in mind."

"Bullshit."

Hannibal's expression doesn't change much but Will can feel amusement coming from the delicate minutia of his face. "How did you feel during the act, Will?"

Will is prepared for the question, he completely expects it from someone like Hannibal, but still it's unsettling. "How did _you_ feel, Dr. Lecter?"

"Mostly confused and somewhat alarmed," Hannibal says easily. "And I remember some pain. It was all very disorienting. Fairly standard reactions given how heavily you drugged me."

"No mind palaces? No illusions to the Divine Comedy?"

Hannibal's smile grows. "Not at the time." He nods in Will's direction. "Was raping me like killing Hobbs and Tier?"

"...Yes."

"How so?"

He looks straight into Hannibal's eyes as he gathers the words he's told himself dozens of times in the past week. Almost endlessly in fact since the first time he tried to have Hannibal killed. "Because you deserved it."

Hannibal looks oddly pleased.

Will exhales. "I felt like..." he says, still thinking. A week has passed but he's still parsing out his emotions. "Like I was tangled up in a web of irony; bestowing a gift on you that you wanted in a way you would hate."

Hannibal still says nothing, only waiting for him to continue with rapt focus.

"I felt like... you should be grateful for it because I was your better," he says finally. The words are heavy, as though weighed down by the truth within them.

Hannibal looks absolutely captivated by that answer, as though it's far exceeded his expectations. For a moment Will feels like a child who's just returned home with a report card of straight A's. That is until his mind returns to the numerous profiles he's done on the Chesapeake Ripper.

"That's exactly how _you_ feel." An uncomfortable lump forms in his throat. "That's how you feel when you..."

Hannibal simply smiles and says, as though offering Will a reward for his actions, "When I kill. That's exactly right."

**Author's Note:**

> as you no doubt guessed hannibal was thinking about how in dante's inferno sowers of discord are cut apart in the eighth circle of hell while washing will graham's come out his pasty lithuanian ass. anyway follow me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/statuscrows) for content that is both significantly worse and far less nuanced than this fic


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